The King's Players
by Telepwen
Summary: Unpredictability has made Grindelwald the most feared wizard of the century, although he'd protest being called evil. When you get down to it, he's a happy and playful fellow. But then, he'd also tell you that he's bored, and the world's his playground.
1. Prologue: The Greater Game

**DISCLAIMER:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. Grindelwald says that he belongs to himself, but I'm not sure that JK Rowling agrees on that one.

**Author's note:** This is a year and a half in the making. Ergo, it was written before Half-Blood Prince. If this is something with which you cannot deal, the back button is up and to your left. This has been a public service announcement.

About fifty people went into the making of this one, so I won't start listing names, but this one is for Ren.

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The King's Players  
Prologue  
The Greater Game

Tuesday, 14 December, 1937  
72 High Street, Oxford, England

The lights in the buildings on High Street were long out, all except for one window. That light rarely went out. It never bothered the neighbours, though. The window on the third floor of 72 High Street wasn't visible to the neighbours.

To be strictly honest, the window was visible to anyone that passed by and happened to glance up, but the light wasn't. All the neighbours saw was a neglected and empty flat that the landlord kept _meaning_ to fix up and rent out, but could never quite seem to remember to do it. Likewise, none of the tenants ever remembered to ask the landlord to clean up all those damned bird droppings that the ledge attracted.

The glass of the window on the third floor had a slight frost to it. None of the other windows in the building had frost on them, but the owner of this particular flat liked how the lamp that burned brightly on a table by the window made dancing patterns in the glowing ice. The clock on the wall above the lamp proclaimed it to be "Time For a Light Snack, Don't You Agree?"

"Yes, I do believe it is." The wizard who occupied the third floor flat pulled himself away from the game pieces over which he'd been poring, and shuffled into the kitchen. He poked through his shelves and cabinets, and peered in the cabinet that was charmed to stay cold inside.

"Let's see. What do I have?" He pushed aside some apples and dug to the bottom of his fruit bowl. "Ah, good. I still have a pear left. I thought I'd finished those. And then where would you be, eh, Dietfried?" Dietfried had the habit of talking to himself quite a lot. He also had a great fondness for pears.

Taking his pear back to his game pieces, he stared at the board, seemingly forgetting about the pear he was absent-mindedly polishing on his sleeve. As the pear started to shine, he finally, for the first time that night, moved a piece. A white pawn, at his direction, made its way two spaces forward.

Dietfried could see that the path was clearing for a red pawn to make its way across the board, but its time had not yet come. It would take some skilful manoeuvring to make sure that the path didn't close again, but he thought he was up to the task. With two sets of chess pieces set up on the same table and no board, the game was very complicated indeed, but that was half the fun. After all, that was where the challenge lay.

This game was his world. This game dictated life and death. The whole of the Wizarding world lived in fear of Dietfried Grindelwald's deadly games—as it had for the past nine years—and that was how he liked it.

Satisfied with the new state of the game, he looked down at his hands, remembered the pear, and took a bite.


	2. ACT ONE: Scene One: Tea

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The King's Players  
ACT ONE  
Scene One  
Tea

Wednesday, 15 December, 1937  
Essex, London

Greta Sawyer clung to her mother's hand. She'd never been out of Hogsmeade before, and she could hardly believe all the sights around her. They were in _London_. The _Ministry_ was here. _Diagon Alley _was here. And best of all, they got to play dress up! She got to wear silly Muggle clothing. And those things that Daddy was wearing! What would he do when he had to go to the toilet? She giggled at the thought.

"Look at all the Muggles, Mummy!" Greta pointed at a passing woman. The woman was wearing clothes as funny as hers and Mummy's. She carried flimsy packages in her hands, and headed toward one of those horseless carriages that Muggles had, even though they didn't have magic. Greta figured that they borrowed them from wizards.

"Don't point, Greta, it's rude! And don't draw attention to yourself. We have to blend in, remember what Mummy told you?" Mrs Sawyer took hold of Greta's other hand and held it close.

"But Mummy…" Greta looked up.

"Listen to your mother, dear." Mr Sawyer ruffled Greta's hair lovingly. "Mummy and I promised we'd take you to see the building where Mummy works when you're old enough, and now you have to show us what a big girl you can be, all right, pumpkin?"

"Arright." Greta mumbled.

"That's two words, dear. All and right. Not arright." Mrs Sawyer sighed, but Greta wasn't listening. Her eyes were still alight taking in all the sights, and she _really_ wanted to see where Mummy went when she Disapparated every morning. All those people scurrying past. All those buildings, so big, like castles!

"Mummy…" Greta tugged her mother's hand. She started to point at a man across the road when she remembered that she wasn't supposed to point. "Mummy… that man over there looks funny."

"Yes, dear, you'll get used to it. Muggles don't look like we do. The way they dress!" Mrs Sawyer kept walking straight ahead, muttering something about lack of dignity. Greta wasn't listening anymore; she couldn't tear her eyes off the strange man who had altered his stride to keep up with the Sawyers.

"No… Mummy… Daddy… look…" Greta tugged harder. She looked up pleadingly at her mother. Flicking her eyes across the road, she saw the man looking at them. "Mummy… the funny man… I think we know him…"

At this, finally, Mr and Mrs Sawyer looked over discreetly. They caught a fleeting glimpse of the man before he vanished into the crowd.

"Oh, Earl. You don't think it could be him, do you? Not here, not now, not with Greta." Mrs Sawyer's eyes wrinkled with worry.

"Just keep walking, Claire. We're in the middle of Muggle London. He's never been so rash before, has he?" Of course, both adults knew that to be a complete lie, but Earl wrapped his arm around his wife, shielding Greta between them. He herded the two of them into a nearby café. Greta looked from one to the other, wondering what had them worried so. It was only a man, right?

As Earl walked through the door, he felt a hand on his back.

"Grindelwald."

"Have a seat with me, and there's no need for a scene, now is there? You have a lovely pair of girls, I must say." Frozen with fear, he felt a foreign hand draw his wand out from his pocket. "I'll just hold on to this for safekeeping, why don't I? And yours, Madame?"

Grindelwald moved around and reached into Claire's sleeve where she had secreted her wand and drew it out with ease and fluidity. It vanished as he twirled it in his fingers. A good many wizards would give their wand arm for that trick, he knew.

Grindelwald knelt down to the floor in front of Greta, who was still very confused about all this.

"Who're you?" she asked him.

"Ah, who am I? I'm your new friend." He laughed, and a bouquet of daisies appeared at a snap of his fingers. Greta started to laugh as he handed her the flowers.

"I like daisies! They're my favourite flower! How did you know?" Grindelwald laughed with her.

"I have to know those things if I'm going to be your friend, now don't I?" He scooped her up into her arms and swung her around. Earl and Claire Sawyer let out simultaneous gasps, but a dark glance from him silenced them both. "What do you say we have a seat and have some hot cocoa, eh, Greta?"

"How'd you know my name?" Greta was still laughing and clutching the daisies that he'd handed her.

"Never you mind, my dear. Never you mind. Come." He sat her down in a chair, and gestured that her parents should also sit with them.

"Waitress!" A young woman who looked to be in her late teens came over carrying a pad of paper. She had snowmen for earrings.

"Hi, welcome to Christine's Café. My name is Serena and I'll be your waitress. We're having a special for the holidays. Peppermint tea." She dropped her voice conspiratorially. "Please don't order it. We're trying to convince Christine never to get it again." The cheerfulness returned to her voice as if she'd never broken off.

"Other than that, it's all on the regular menu, and I recommend the tuna. It's freshest. Quite good, really, I've been surviving on it myself. Oh, and don't eat the ham. Just take my word for that."

"Serena, was it? Yes. I'd like a hot cocoa for me and another for the little lady here. With extra sugar, if you please." Grindelwald winked at Greta before he looked over at Mr Sawyer. "And for you? My treat this time, don't you worry."

"That peppermint tea… is there alcohol in that?" Earl's voice was shaking. Claire's head snapped around to glare at him. Her look held volumes. _Why would there be alcohol in tea? Are you _trying_ to draw attention to us?_ Earl apologised with his eyes, but the waitress chattered on without noticing any of it.

"Oh, don't I wish," said Serena. "Would do us all some good, wouldn't it? But we don't serve alcohol here, I'm afraid. No, it's got your standard black tea and some peppermint oil in it, but nothing stronger. They didn't even think to steep the actual mint leaves; _that_ might have been, well, equally wrong."

"Can't win them all, can you? I'll have a regular cup of tea, in that case. And you, dear?" He looked over to Claire, desperately trying to sound normal. A look passed between them, _We__ had to get the only perky waitress in the whole of England _now_, didn't we? _

"Tea sounds perfect."

"All right, that'll be two hot cocoas, with extra sugar, and two cups of tea, no peppermint, got it. Anything else, something to eat?" Serena was busy scratching the order down in her pad.

"Oh, do you have any pears?"

"No, sorry, sir. Not this late in the year. I can get you a list of our desserts, if you like."

"Shame, that. No, I just was hoping for a good pear. The cocoa'll do very nicely, though." He smiled at her, and her eyes glazed over just a little before she smiled back.

"I'll be right back with your drinks." She hurried off.

"Right, then. Let's get down to it, shall we?" Grindelwald sat with a pleasant smile on his face. He took out from his coat pocket a small figurine and laid it on the table. Claire let out a small, terrified sob when she saw it.

"Look, Mummy! It's a lady!" Greta squealed with delight as she reached for the red carving of a tall woman.

"Greta, no!" Her father caught her hand before she touched the figurine.

Grindelwald laughed. "Oh, let her. It doesn't bite, and she certainly can't hurt it." He picked up the woman and handed it to Greta. She started tracing the intricate detail with her finger ever so delicately.

"I take it from your reaction that you recognise that piece, Claire. Tell me about her."

"It's… It's… the major red queen from your set." Claire reached out her hand to Greta, who only very reluctantly gave up her prize. "She's… the first piece you lost. About five years before the game even began."

Grindelwald's face darkened, and his eyes grew dangerous. "Why do you know that? _Who told you that?_"

"I make it a point to know things. That's what archivists _do_. Besides, I knew Morrigan Marvolo. She was my dearest friend before she vanished into the Muggle world…"

"…never to be seen again, I know the rhetoric, do spare me, please. You know where she is, and you will lead me to her."

Claire clutched the red queen until she thought it might shatter.

"So, a hot cocoa for the little lady here, and one for you, sir, and tea for you and you. And, as luck would have it, we actually did have a pear in the back, still ripe and everything. It was like magic." Serena started setting drinks down in front of each of them, oblivious to the tension at the table.

"If you change your mind about that dessert list… try the tart. My God, it's delicious."

Claire waited until the waitress was out of earshot once again before looking up from her cup, hardly even noticing the girl's flippant and borderline-blasphemous use of the Lord's name. "Morrigan ran away from a lot of things, most of all people like you. People who would treat her like some sort of Dark queen. She never understood that. She never wanted any part of it. Just because she was a Marvolo. Doesn't make her Dark, does it. She's just a witch like any other." She took a sip of her tea.

Grindelwald stared at Claire. "You really don't know, do you? She never was a witch like any other. There was never any such thing as 'Just a Marvolo.' You have no idea what that bloodline is, do you? I thought that you were just taking pride in how you people down in Archives knew."

Greta giggled as she got cream on her nose. Grindelwald smiled. "But it doesn't really matter after all this time, does it? All that _matters_ is that _you_ have what I want, and _I_ have," he wiped the cream off of Greta's nose and let her lick it off his finger, "what you want. Greta here does not leave my side until that woman is delivered to me. You understand?"

"Claire…" Earl whispered frantically. "Tell him!"

"Earl, you don't understand." Claire's voice was filled with fright.

"What doesn't he understand? Oh, do enlighten us all." Grindelwald folded his hands and rested his chin on them.

"Sh… she's been dead for ten years. She died in '27." Claire nearly knocked over her tea. She pushed her cup away.

"Pray tell; how did she die?"

"In… in…"

"Yes?" He took a bite of his pear.

"In childbirth." Grindelwald stopped chewing mid-bite.

"And who was the father?" Greta looked up as he swallowed the bit of pear still in his mouth. He did not smile down at her.

"A Muggle man. I never knew his name. He threw her out when he found out she was a witch. She was already pregnant. That's all I know. I swear it. Please."

"Please?" Grindelwald laughed again. "Please what? It sounds like you're asking for something. Are you asking for something?"

Earl looked at Claire, his eyes full of pleading. She looked down.

"I would never presume to ask something of one so great as you."

Amusement lit up his eyes as he said, "Oh, but you _do_ amuse me. What is it that you aren't daring to ask me?"

Claire stared at Greta, but did not say a word.

"Ah. Yes. Well, you see, I am a man of my word, am I not? I asked for Morrigan. Did you give her to me?"

"I told you all I know." Claire's voice had an edge of trepidation. "I swear it. I swear it on my life that's all I know."

"It's not your life I'm interested in. I did not ask you if you told me all you know. I asked you if you _gave her to me._"

"I cannot. She is dead. I don't know where she is buried." She clutched the red queen for dear life.

"Then I'm afraid that I cannot give you what you want. Our business here is concluded. Come. We'll walk out together, shall we?" Tossing a few coins on the table, he got up from the table, and the four of them walked out onto the street.

"Greta, would you like to come see something very special?" Grindelwald knelt in front of Greta once more.

"Mummy? Is it arright?" Greta liked her new friend, but seemed to sense that something wasn't right. She glanced from her daisies to her mother.

"No, honey. Come to Daddy." Earl finally tried to take some control of the situation.

Claire never saw Grindelwald draw his wand; she never heard the spell he whispered. She only saw her husband clutch at his left arm, clamp his jaw, and fall silent.

"If I were you, dear, I'd start making a fuss. Muggles don't like it when the wife doesn't make a fuss. Makes 'em suspicious, it does. And then where would we be for the secrecy of our kind? Oh, and I'd like my chess piece back." He held out his hand expectantly.

Claire held out the red queen in shock. Grindelwald handed it to Greta.

"Here you are, my dear. You can hold onto this for safe keeping for me, how does that sound? We're going to go see some really special things while Mummy takes care of Daddy, all right?"

Greta looked from Earl to Claire to Grindelwald.

"Go, Greta." Claire bit her lip.

"You are a wiser woman than I gave you credit for, Claire. You never had a daughter. Remember that. Never. When anyone asks, you never had a daughter. I tell you that for your own benefit, and only because I like you. If you find me Morrigan's child, things may yet go well for you. If not, you may see me again. I may be the last thing you _ever _see."

He took Greta by the hand, and the two of them left as Earl let out the first real cry of pain. Claire caught him as he fell, and found that _not_ making a fuss would have been much harder than screaming for help.

"Help, help, _oh help_!"

But she knew that no one could. No one could save Earl Sawyer.

Serena rushed out of the café at the commotion, snowman earrings swinging as she ran. Claire cursed the girl for being so damned _nice._ Why couldn't she be like all the other waitresses she'd ever had? They were in it for the money, and made sure Claire knew it. That was the way things were _supposed_ to be. Why did they have to have this girl who cared today of all days?

"Oh, God, I'll call the police. Where's your little girl? Is she all right?"

"The little girl? She wasn't mine. She was the other man's daughter. They left already."

It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to say in her life, and the words came out flatter than any Claire had ever spoken. Collapsing over her dying husband, she started to sob uncontrollably.

-- o --

"Is Daddy going to be arright?" Greta tugged on Grindelwald's hand as they walked.

"Your Mum is taking care of him, isn't she? Aren't you always all better after she takes care of _you_?" He smiled down at her.

"Yeah, I s'pose so, she jus' seemed so scared." Greta looked doubtful.

"That's Mummy's job, to worry. It's our job to enjoy ourselves and play while she makes things better. Sound good to you?" Grindelwald stopped and took both of Greta's hands.

"Arright." She seemed satisfied.

"Excellent. Do you like games?"

"Oh, yes! I love games! I have lots of games at home!" Greta's eyes lit up.

"I have games at my home, too. Do you want to see them? I have games and puzzles and all sorts of things." There was a glint in his eye that Greta was too young to see.

"What kind of puzzles?" She was caught already.

"You like figuring things out?" He smiled as she nodded enthusiastically. "There, you see, Greta? I told you we'd be great friends."

"Where do you live? Can we go there now?"

Taking out a silver pocket watch engraved with a black kitten on one side and a pair of gloves draped over a closed fan on the other, he nodded.

"Soon. In fact, we'd better start moving. It'll be dark soon. All sorts of people come out after dark. This way, follow meeeee!" He broke into a mock run, Greta on his heels screeching with delight.

The pair did not slow down until they reached a narrow alley. Grindelwald stopped at what seemed to be a blank wall, except for the way he stared at it with intense concentration.

"Two over… six up…" He counted bricks, though Greta couldn't tell where he was starting. "Ah, here it is. Stand back." He tapped the brick he wanted with his wand. Greta waited. Nothing happened.

"Whassit s'pposed to do?"

"It's just being temperamental. Hold on." He tapped the brick again. This time, it slid out of its place and into Grindelwald's waiting hands. "There we are. There's only thirty seconds to spare. Take hold of the edge."

Greta put her hand on the brick just in time to feel a hook pull behind her navel. She closed her eyes.

"Go on. Open them."

"Where are we?" Greta looked around with wonder.

"My home. Shall I show you around? You'll be here for a while."

"What's _that_?" Greta went straight to the table with the fateful chess pieces.

"Ah, you have an eye for the important things in life. You'll serve me very well, indeed. _That_, my dear, is the world. Don't touch it! All those pieces are people!" He joined Greta at the table, pointing out a white pawn. "Do you see that pawn?"

"What's a pawn?" Greta scanned the table in confusion.

"The short ones. They're rounder than the other pieces, see? Less detailed. They're the ones that your eyes might pass over." Grindelwald moved his hand over the board in demonstration. "Here, look at this one. See this white one right here?"

"Uh huh."

"I moved this piece just last night. This piece is your Mum. And now your Mum is moving along," he traced a line with his finger, "this path. That's what these pieces do."

"So where'm I?

"You? You're right here!" Grindelwald picked her up and carried her over to the couch.

"No-o-o-o!" Greta giggled. "I meant over there!"

"You're not over there. But I suspect that you may yet get a piece of your own."

Greta's laughter died down, and she became very serious. Looking up at Grindelwald, she whispered, "What about…" Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out the red queen. "What about this one?"

"Ah. That's the major red queen. That piece represented a woman by the name of Morrigan Marvolo. Your mother informs me that she is dead."

Greta's eyes lit up once again. "Morrigan! My middle name is Morrigan! Mummy named me after a friend she used to have. Maybe it's the same lady!"

The world froze for Grindelwald as Greta babbled on.

"And my grandmum is Greta, too. That's why my Daddy wanted to name me Greta. So I'm the second Greta Sawyer, but she's Greta Alice Sawyer, and I'm Greta Morrigan Sawyer, so it's not exactly the same, but we like to pretend sometimes, and…"

"Hush for a moment, sweetie."

Perhaps he could still find this mysterious Marvolo child. Greta started to look frightened.

"I'm not s'pposed to tell anyone my middle name. Mummy says that people should forget her friend. 'Specially when I get to Hogwarts, she said. But you already remember her, so I guess it's arright."

Hogwarts. Morrigan had died ten years earlier in childbirth. The child would be in the incoming class. Merlin's beard, it was almost too easy.

"Yes, Greta. Of course it's all right. In fact, I think you _will_ have a piece in the game. Would you like that?"

Nodding enthusiastically Greta asked, "What do I have to do?"

"Absolutely nothing." Grindelwald drew out his wand, and before Greta knew what was happening, there was a small red pawn sitting on the couch where an instant before there had been a little girl.

-- o --

* * *

**Author's Note:** No promises on another update quite as quickly as this one came. There's some major editing that needs doing. Also, I'm about to start school for the first time in five years, so I may be a little overwhelmed from jumping back into the academic waters. But remember! It has been scientifically proven that Telepwens will flourish when fed a steady diet of reviews. So support a Telepwen today and leave some feedback! 


	3. Scene Two: Cider

**Author's Note:** Some people have commented about the lack of compliancy with HBP. I did warn about this at the top of the prologue. Let me say it again. I could not work in all of HBP without destroying the fic. So I didn't try. That's really all there is to it. Also, you should all thank Robin for tearing this scene apart for me. It needed massive work, and she helped more than she had to.

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The King's Players  
Scene Two  
Cider

Thursday, 16 December, 1937  
The Sawyer Residence, Hogsmeade

Claire Sawyer was beside herself. Her neighbour, Jackie, had come over to find her sitting on Greta's bed sobbing into the girl's favourite doll, inconsolable.

"What happened, dear? Tell me what happened."

As her friend looked up from the doll, Jackie could see that Claire's face was bright red and there were distinctive patches of salt where layers of tears had already dried. Her voice cracked when she tried to speak, and when she did get words out, they were bitter and flat. "Him. He took them from me. I'll kill the bastard. I'll kill him with my own two hands if I have to."

"Grindelwald." Jackie sat down on the bed, feeling helpless. Claire took hold of her hand, and gripped it as if for dear life, but continued to stare at the doll as if the porcelain and paint held all the answers.

"He came out of _nowhere_. In Muggle London. Earl… he's dead. Bastard took Greta." Her voice took on a distinctively hysterical edge. "Oh, Jack. What will I _do_?"

Jackie had nothing to say. She stroked Claire's hair gently. Claire flared up, nearly hyperventilating as she ranted:

"I'll curse him to death! I'll flay him! I'll strangle him! I'll… I'll…"

"You'll what, exactly, Claire? And please, go into detail. I like your imagination." Both women shrieked at the sound of Grindelwald's voice in the bedroom doorway.

Grindelwald stood up from the doorjamb where he'd been leaning and sauntered into the room. Jackie clung to Claire with her free hand, frozen. Claire shook her off and stood up.

"Where's Greta?" Her voice wavered, but she managed to get the words out.

"Where's Earl?" Grindelwald countered. "Having trouble extricating the body from Muggle legalities, are we?"

"You knew I would," Claire snapped. "Where's Greta? 'She won't leave my side,' you said. And here you are without her." Her eyes held a mixture of fury and terror. Grindelwald's eyes, however, were unreadable. They held only a glint of something he knew.

"Am I? Am I really? Are you accusing me of _breaking my word_, dear lady? Because if you are, I might decide that I don't like you so much after all. And imagine how badly things would go for your friend here if I decided _that_. I've never been a fan of the Killing Curse, you know. Flashes of green lack creativity."

Claire fell silent. Jackie just shrank back onto the bed, her features made sharp by abject terror.

"As it so happens, I came regarding Greta." He gestured to an old and worn (but well cared for) leather pouch hanging off his right hip. Though it looked like it had originally been for coins, no coin jingled as Grindelwald fished inside the pouch with two fingers. When he pulled out a red pawn, Claire promptly fainted.

"You see what I have to deal with, Jackie?" Grindelwald sighed in irritation as Jackie let off a squeak and scrambled to Claire's side.

"What did you do to her? Help her!" she cried out without thinking—but Jackie clamped her mouth shut as soon as she remembered exactly to whom she was speaking.

"I? I did nothing. She fainted on her own. I simply brought her information. She knows what it means. Someday, I'll pry from her the reason why she knows so much about my pieces, but for now, it will suffice that she does." He dropped the chess piece back in its pouch.

"That's Greta, isn't it? You turned her into…" Jackie trailed off, and her hand found its way to her open mouth to cover it. She could hardly believe what she was saying.

"You're a quick one, Jack."

"My God." Jackie was white as a sheet.

"Oh, one last thing. Never let it be said that I never give back _anything_ that I take." He twirled his fingers and a wand appeared in his hand. Dropping nine and a half inches of oak in Claire's unmoving hand, he turned his back and walked out.

-- o --

Tuesday, 21 December, 1937  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London

Donald MacVicar was, by nature, a very neat and well-ordered man. His desk, on the other hand, hadn't seen the light of day from under the mess of papers spread over the desktop in some months, leaving it in desperate need of polishing. _A cluttered desk is a sign of genius._ He only wished he knew who had said that so he could properly thank the fellow for thinking up such a sanity-saving gem.

Today, however, his desk was clear. He had a tendency to clear it for important visitors.

"Dietfried, how have you been? It's been too long." MacVicar finished stacking the last of his piles of records on a shelf.

Grindelwald pulled up a chair and gave an amused appraisal of the desk (which was still slightly dusty). "You cleared your desk for me. I'm touched. How's the wife?"

"Mary? Oh, she's doing well. We're expecting, don't you know it. Boy. I didn't want to know, wanted it to be a surprise, but Mary just couldn't contain her curiosity. You should have seen her face when the diagnostic spells came up male. She wants a son so badly. We're due in May." Donald could feel his whole face glow with pride.

"You devil. Fatherhood, eh? It suits you. How many people do you take care of already?"

"Ach. You haven't any idea. And it's not even as if I take care of them personally. I just keep 'em organised." Donald shrugged dismissively, but the growing files lining the office walls certainly attested to the amount of work involved.

"Full time job, that. Care to get one of your files early and done with and out of the way? It'll make your life much easier come May."

Donald eyed Grindelwald suspiciously. "What are you… no, wait. Let me guess. You moved my piece, didn't you?"

"Who, me?" Grindelwald grinned innocently.

"Dietfried… don't play games with me. Own up. You did, didn't you?"

"The minor red queenside bishop _may_ have been moved last night."

"I knew it. What am I doing? This had _better_ not disrupt Mary." He stared Grindelwald down, trying to keep a stern look.

"Would I dream of disturbing Mary? Of course not," the other answered seriously. "Just get the Hogwarts list early. I want it. Is that so hard?" Turning him down was impossible when there was so much practicality in his voice.

"Suppose not. Also suppose it's pointless asking why?"

"You're spot on as usual, Don. Staying home for Christmas Eve?" The sudden change of subject slightly worried MacVicar, especially a subject involving _that_ day, but he went with it.

"I promised Mary a home cooked meal. Got the night off. It's our last Christmas alone, you know? I promised her that nothing in the whole of the world could make me come in that night." He began to fidget in his chair. For all the banter, for all the friendship, even he could not forget that Dietfried Grindelwald was the greatest terror England had seen in centuries.

"Good. It's good for you to get out, see the woman you love from time to time." Grindelwald nodded approvingly.

"When are you going to get married, D? You're not getting any younger." He fell silent as one of the darkest stares of which he'd ever been on the receiving end pierced through him. "Not that you have to, of course," he amended quickly.

Grindelwald's hand strayed to his pocket, where he seemed to unconsciously trace the outline of an object there.

"So. D. Are you taking Christmas off this year?" MacVicar desperately tried to change the conversation back to the original topic, not liking the darkness in his friend's eyes. Grindelwald seemed to snap out of a slight reverie.

"Of course not. Do I ever?" Grindelwald smiled none too innocently. MacVicar shuddered and quickly changed the subject once again.

"I'll get you that list within the week. Dumbledore'll want to know why I want it early. What should I tell him? If it were Dippet I was dealing with, I'd worry less, but it's Dumbledore's book, Dumbledore's quill, Dumbledore that I have to go to."

"Tell him all about Mary and your little boy that's coming and how you just _have_ to get a head start on your upcoming work. It'll get past him. It's _true_, isn't it?" Grindelwald pointed out, pushing his chair back and standing up. "Don. I've got to get going. Do send my warmest love to Mary, and my congratulations. I'll be seeing you. Oh, and Happy Christmas."

Grindelwald let the door swing shut behind him, leaving a composed but visibly pale Donald MacVicar sitting at his empty desk.

-- o --

Friday, 24 December, 1937  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London

There was a false air of cheer at St. Mungo's. But then, the holidays were always like that. The Healers tried their best to make things bright and happy, but the patients remembered where they were. Forgetting was difficult at best if you were in hospital for a manticore bite or a transfiguration class spell gone astray.

But a sense of cheer there was, nonetheless. There were more visitors than usual, and the food was certainly better. Gifts were piled around the long-term patients' beds, and cards lined nearly every bedside table.

Laughter could be heard from many rooms all throughout the building, which, for Robert, made the sense of cheer real enough. Robert didn't usually look forward to holiday shifts, but the Christmas one he always enjoyed.

"Not like I got a wife or nothing," he'd always say. "Might as well let someone else go home to theirs." Especially with Christmas on a Saturday this year.

He went from room to room, bringing hot cider personally to each patient.

"Emily, I see you're feeling better, Happy Christmas."

Emily grunted but smiled a bit. "I'll get out in a few days, they say. And what's the point of cider if it ain't got no alcohol?"

"Because administration won't let us get our patients drunk again this year. 'Sides. Imagine what alcohol would do to the people in here with potion problems. And this same stuff is going to the kid's ward, too. But you're getting out in a few days; that's good holiday news, innit. Paul, how's that leg?"

"I swear. I'll never walk again. Stupid cauldron." Paul grimaced.

"I hear talk they've been putting together legislation in the Ministry for thicker cauldron bottoms, then this sort of thing won't happen so much." Robert tried to sound hopeful as he set the mug of cider on Paul's bedside table.

Emily piped up. "I'll believe _that_ when I see it. Ministry, get something done." Paul snickered.

From down the row of beds, a voice called over. "Oi! My brother works for the Ministry! If they say there's going to be regulations for thicker cauldron bottoms, then I say you'll see the damned regulations by this time next year! Who wants a wager? Christmas 1938. I'd put a galleon on it."

"William!" Robert admonished. "Stop that! A galleon this time? You think we're made of gold? Stop trying to gamble while you're in hospital! This is a house of healing, not a casino!"

"Yes, Robert," William muttered. There were snickers all around.

"Hey, Will! I might take you up on that wager of yours! I could use a galleon, I could! You should just give it to me now, though, since we all know about the _efficiency_ of the Ministry."

"_Ingrid_, don't you even encourage him. You just like making trouble, don't you?" Robert was sorely tempted to throw something at the woman before better judgment silenced the devil on his shoulder.

"You know I do, Robbie, love. You know I do." She winked at him and threw him a kiss. Robert gave into his little devil and threw a pillow at her.

Snickers turned into full, honest laughter from every bed in the room. Ingrid, on the other hand, pouted.

"You don't love me."

"That must be it. Dreadful sorry. 'Sides, I got lots of cider to get to lots of other people; I'll see you all in a while."

Robert didn't see it until he turned to leave. A mist, ankle deep, had already filled the corridor, but only just begun to flow into the room. He froze where he stood.

"Robbie, love, what's the matter? You look like you've seen a demon." Ingrid struggled to sit up in her bed, arms shaking slightly as she hauled her body up.

The mist was green, but not any of the greens Robert would have expected. Neither a sickly green nor an acid green, the seeping fog reminded him more of moss and trees than of anything else. It was the living vibrant green of forests and clover-covered hillocks. And what was perhaps the strangest part of all was that the haze seemed to be alive. Eddies whirled purposefully as they spread, dancing across the room.

By now, the swirling mist covered half the room, rapidly approaching Robert's feet. He started to back up, but there wasn't enough room to back up very far. He bumped into the cart, still full of cider, and watched half in horror, half in sheer curiosity, as the mist wrapped tendrils around his feet.

The tendrils tingled slightly as they tightened. Robert tried to pull his foot out of their hold, to no avail.

"Robert… what is that?" Emily drew her knees up and tried to make herself as small as possible. She sounded frightened.

"I have no idea, Emily. But all of you stay on your beds. Don't touch the floor until I figure out what's going on." As he tried to walk forward, two more tendrils reached up and wrapped around his wrists, pulling him down as he cried out in surprise. The cart of cider toppled over, spilling its hot contents all over the floor, but no one noticed; they were too busy watching. Robert let out a strangled shriek as yet another tendril wrapped around his throat.

Fighting as hard as he could didn't seem to help. The mist felt like a thousand small pins prickling all over his skin, digging for something that lived very deep inside, draining every last bit of something he couldn't identify but couldn't live without.

Tendrils started to climb the bedposts. Emily was the first to shriek. Ingrid followed suit.

Soon, every person in the ward was screaming.

Soon, every person in the hospital was screaming.

Soon, every person in the hospital was silent.

-- o --

Saturday, 25 December, 1937  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, London

"Mummy, erm… Mum…" Eliza Michaels was huddled in a corner hiding with her mother and father. She was sixteen years old and usually thought herself entirely too old to call her mother Mummy, but this situation was enough to send anyone running to their mother. "Is it over?"

"I don't know, honey. We'll just… wait here until someone comes. Someone's bound to come. Even wizards must have emergency people, right?" Rena held her daughter close as her husband whispered over.

"It's Christmas. They had a skeleton crew on last night. Who's going to come? No one came in the war; we had to fight for ourselves. And that's the last time I saw something like this, I swear." There was a cold, hard look in David Michaels' eye. He'd fought in the Great War, been in the hastily-dug trenches; he'd seen the atrocities, the poison gas, the death. But even he had never seen anything like this. The screams had lasted for hours. And yet, the three of them had come out untouched. _But not Andrew._

"David, don't think like that. Someone's got to come. They've got to. This isn't a war. Just because you can feel war brewing in our world doesn't mean that war is brewing in their world. There's no bad guy." _Besides.__ You're scaring Eliza._ She tried to convey that last message with her eyes.

"What happened to them all, Dad? What happened to Drew? What was that stuff?" Eliza looked up from where she was huddled. "I mean… he was in for, what did he say it was? _Dragon _pox? Is that like chicken pox? I've had chicken pox; can I get dragon pox? But they had a cure and everything and he was going to be fine! He does not look fine! He looks _dead! _Just like everyone else in this blooming hospital!" She was nearing hysterics. Rena pulled Eliza up onto her lap and started to rock her back and forth, deciding that perhaps now was not the time to chastise Eliza for her language.

"Hush, honey. Someone will come, and they'll work their magic, and he'll be all right." _Please let it be true._

"Why can't I have magic? Why couldn't I get a letter like he got? Why couldn't I go to that school and learn to do all those things? I want to live in their world. You said it yourself! There's no war coming here!" Tears started to flow down Eliza's face.

"How do you know that their world is better than ours? Our world is a good place, and we have a good life. Your brother… we always knew he was special, but you're special in your own way. You'll do great things, Eliza. Never forget that." David reached out and put a comforting hand on his daughter's shoulder.

A man's voice echoed from down the hallway. "I'd listen to such wise words if I were you, dear."

Rena called out, "Hello? We're over here!"

The voiced called back to them. "You can come out. You're quite safe. Relatively speaking."

"I told you someone would come. Come on." Rena helped Eliza up, and they followed the voice. They tried not to look at the bodies of patients they passed in the ward, or at the Healers that had gone down in the hallways. A wizard of medium build with darkish sandy hair was picking his way through the hallway toward him.

"Ah, there you are." The man looked them up and down. "Yes, I suspected you'd be Muggles. That would explain it. Follow me." He started to walk briskly down the corridor.

David asked, "Are there any other survivors?"

"No. Just the three of you. Wouldn't be much of a Christmas celebration if I leave too many unscathed, now would it?" The man's words stopped David dead in his tracks.

"If _you_ leave too many unscathed?" he echoed, pulling Rena and Eliza behind him. "Sir. I don't know who you are, and I thank you for your help, but I think that my wife and daughter and I will find our own way out."

"Out? Who ever said I was taking you _out_? I thought I just told you. It wouldn't be much of a Christmas celebration if you walked out unharmed. People would say I'm _slipping_, and I can't have that, can I? Of course I can't."

Eyes glittering, he continued, "I think I might let them find you hovering with just enough life to tell them what horrors you saw this night. But don't be hopeful. They won't be able to save you. There are things I can do to you that God Himself couldn't save you from." He cocked his head as inspiration seemed to strike.

"Or, I might rub honey in your hair and call it a day. Not sure yet." The amusement fell from the sandy-haired man's face once more as the sparkle in his eyes turned to a dangerous flash once more.

The man approached slowly as he continued. "You said you don't know who I am. Didn't that son of yours ever tell you about Dietfried Grindelwald? No? He should have. You would have known to get far, far away long before I got here if he had. But now you're stuck with me, aren't you?"

David stood his ground. Rena and Eliza started to back up.

"Oh. Wrong choice." In a flash, his wand was out. All three froze in their tracks. They knew what those polished sticks of wood were, and were afraid of what one might do in the hands of this madman. "Bet you wish you'd gotten one of those letters _now_, eh, Eliza?"

"How'd you kno…"

"How'd I know your name? Just call it magic. Everything else is magic, isn't it? Either that, or you just look like an Eliza. Or maybe your darling father called you that earlier. '_Ohhh__, yeaaahhhh.__ That. I forgot.'_ Right, Eliza?"

Ropes shot out from his wand, encircling Eliza's knees. She fell hard to the floor as he dragged her to him. The girl screamed as she was pulled along, desperate to stop herself trying to dig her fingers into a crack, any crack, in the floor. Finally, she tried to push her palms into the floor, anything to push against the movement. Nothing worked.

"No!" David rushed toward his daughter.

"You want her? Come get her." Grindelwald started walking once again, dragging Eliza behind him. David stared in half horror and half amazement that this man could drag his daughter, who easily weighed ten stone, without any apparent effort. She grabbed at her knees, trying fruitlessly to free herself.

"Sir. I beg you. Spare her. Take me instead." David tried to put himself in Grindelwald's way.

"Instead? Did I indicate that this was an either or deal?" Grindelwald walked on. Eliza clawed at the ropes in terror, begging incoherently, tears streaming down her cheeks. Rena ran after them.

"Please. I'll do anything. Spare my daughter. Let her go. Anything. There must be something," He pleaded desperately. Finally, Grindelwald stopped walking.

"Anything? What about," he swung around and pointed at Rena, "her?"

Rena let out a terrified gasp as Grindelwald continued. "Yes, what about it? You and the girl can walk out of here, free as anything for the small price of your wife. You said anything. Did you mean it?"

"I… I…" David started to stammer. He could hardly get a sound out, could hardly even think.

"Why, what's the matter? She was dead anyway. You're saving yourself and your daughter this way. But oh, how much longer she's going to suffer if you take this bargain. Think on it, but think quickly. The three of you or the one of you? Are you really willing to give anything? I'm curious."

Rena and Eliza started talking at once.

"Daddy, don't do it."

"David, take your life and go."

"Daddy, no!"

"David… I'll be all right… take Eliza and _go_!"

David stood frozen in horror.

"What will it be, _David_? Will it be three relatively quick deaths that only take a day or so, or one excruciatingly slow one that takes significantly longer? Make up your mind. I'm running out of patience. I might start to get _bored._"

Rena finally looked David in the eye and broke through the madness. "David. You trained for this in the war. The needs of the many, David. The needs of the many."

Her words finally broke through the haze in his mind, and David answered clearly:

"Outweigh the needs of the few. Grindelwald, you said your name was, sir? Give me my daughter. We're leaving." He tried to stop the tears that were welling up, but they flowed freely. Pulling Rena close, David held his wife tightly. "Honey, I'm sorry…"

"I know."

Grindelwald put a hand on Rena's shoulder. "Time to go, dear. We have a date, you and I."

-- o --

MacVicar Residence, Chelmsford

"Donny, love, do you have to go in? It's Christmas. You promised." Mary MacVicar stretched in bed as Donald washed and pulled on clean robes.

"I promised Christmas Eve, Mary. I have to go in. You know that Christmas Day is the day that the emergencies from Dietfried pour in, if he let anyone survive this year from whatever it is he's done this time," he added with a shudder. "Besides. I have something that he's looking for." Bending over to kiss his wife, he said, "I'll see you tonight. I have a special present for you."

"Ooh. What is it?" Mary sat up, pulling the warm covers with her, fluffing a pillow behind her back.

"It's a penguin," Donald called over his shoulder as he headed out the bedroom door.

"Donny!" Mary shouted after him.

"Whaaat? It's a surprise! I love you dear, but I'm going to be late if I don't get going in the next five minutes."

Mary pouted. "At least come kiss me goodbye. And make it worth it. It's Christmas. I want it to make up for that penguin you didn't get me."

Sweeping his wife up into his arms, Donald whispered, "I love you," in her ear as he kissed her. "Happy Christmas, Mary. I will see you tonight. And I promise it's better than a penguin. Penguins are such high maintenance pets anyway." _I should get her a stuffed penguin._ _Where am I going to find a stuffed penguin on Christmas Day? _

Even as he Disapparated, he felt like he really should just call in. When he walked out of the Apparition Point at St. Mungo's and to the front reception area where the Welcome Witch should have nodded absent-mindedly at him, he knew where the odd feeling of dread had come from.

The whole hospital was turned upside-down. Bodies were scattered on the floor, left wherever they had fallen. Several other people were there already, in varying stages of shock.

"What happened here?" He pointed to a Healer at random. "Bianca. Tell me what happened."

She raised a shaky hand and pointed to a glass table that, even to a casual eye, clearly did not belong there. The table stood before the front desk, where Joanna the Welcome Witch still lay on the floor—dead.

"I was the first to get here, Mr MacVicar… everything was just like this."

Donald walked up to the glass table. It was an elegant piece, to be sure. The top was circular and crystal clear, almost as if there were no glass there at all. The three legs were made of a smokier glass, and curved gracefully and delicately. Sitting in the centre of the tabletop was a red pawn with a note. "_Transfigure Me_," it read in a neat handwriting that Donald instantly recognised.

"Did anyone even think to transfigure it?" he asked calmly.

Bianca stared at him as though he'd grown an extra head. "Are you mad? We'd probably end up with a hungry gryphon or something equally horrid that wants to eat our innards. It's a _chess _piece, Mr MacVicar… it's one of _Grindelwald's_ games."

"Hungry gryphons aren't his style, Bianca. He's done his damage. May I safely assume that someone checked the building already and this is a widespread… phenomenon?"

Another Healer spoke up. "Not a soul survived whatever happened last night."

"Thank you…"

"Frederick, Mr MacVicar. Frederick Bode. I checked all the wards. All dead." His voice faltered.

"Thank you, Frederick, for keeping your head enough to do something useful. I'd say we have ourselves a situation here. Does anyone have any ideas?" Several blank stares and a few shaken heads told him that no one did.

"Right. Well, since you have no ideas, and I have one, I'd say that it's time you stopped thinking me quite so mad." Drawing his wand and praying that gryphons really _weren't_ Dietfried's style, Donald transfigured the piece freeform.

Every single person in the room jumped back as the glass table shattered. The woman that sat dazed in the pile of broken glass was significantly heavier than the chess piece had been, and the table was too fragile to support her weight. She had dozens from cuts from the glass and was starting to bleed freely.

The woman had a blank stare. She didn't seem to realise that she was there. Donald took a tentative step toward her. "Erm… ma'am?"

She blinked. And screamed. Bringing her hands up to shield her face, she looked as if she were absolutely terrified that Donald would do something Unforgivable to her. She tried to back up, her feet sliding on broken glass as she back-pedalled.

"Somebody calm her down!" Someone called out from behind him. Donald thought it might have been Bianca. His wand was already in his hand. "_Sedoverenus. _All right there, ma'am?" Immediately, the woman calmed down.

"What… what did you do to me?" She still sounded terrified, but the hysteria had passed. _Sedoverenus_ wasn't _that_ uncommon of a spell, was it? Donald wondered why she didn't recognise it, or at the very least recognise the effects. Then again, surviving an experience with Dietfried was enough to send anyone off the edge.

Donald walked over slowly and held his hands out. "Calming spell. For the hysteria. That's all. I swear. Now why don't we start again? My name is Donald MacVicar. I'm an administrator here. What's your name?" As he reached the woman, she again tried to back up, finally managing to find a foothold under the fragments of glass.

"R-Rena. M-my n-name is R-Rena."

"All right, Rena. That's a good start. Now. What do you say we get you out of that glass and stop that bleeding before we do anything else?" Donald reached Rena and held out his hand.

"D-don't want any more m-magic…" It dawned on Donald what the missing factor was.

"You're not a witch, are you?" He looked at her in fascination.

"No. M-muggle. That's th-the word... r-right? A-andrew Michaels." She hesitated at his outstretched hand, drawing back from it as if it were poisonous.

"Oh, sweet Lord. You're his mother, aren't you? He was in hospital for… oh, what was it; I had his file… dragon pox or some such. Got it because he was Muggleborn, so he didn't have the immunities. It all makes perfect sense. What happened to you, Rena? No. Don't tell me now. We'll get you cleaned up, and then you'll tell me," he said soothingly. Several of the staff started to stare at him as though he really were mad, but Rena finally looked up and took his hand.

"Frederick! Richard! Get her cleaned up and healed!" MacVicar started shouting out orders, and Healers started to fly to Rena's side.

"The man who did this. Grindelwald. What did he say to you?"

"How did you know? Oh, it was horrible. He… he said… he said I was a witness. He said…" Tears started to flow down her face as she spoke.

"He said I should ask if you thought you'd be safe forever patching others up and not burying your own." Every face in the room tightened. Donald's hand gripped Rena's until he realised he was crushing it and loosened his hold.

Slowly, over the next few hours, in fragments, Rena recounted the memories her mind was already beginning to repress. It took half the psychiatric ward to get the information from her; no one knew how to deal with a Muggle victim to whom varying types of magic were indistinguishable from each other. Though Muggle victims were hardly a rarity, they didn't tend to end up in the hands of Wizarding Healers. Rather, they much more often tended to add to the (so the Muggle doctors thought) inexplicable increase in the occupancy of asylums, much to the delight of the bookkeepers working for the manufacturers of straitjackets.

-- o --

72 High Street, Oxford

Grindelwald did not sit at the chess table. There was no need; he'd not move any pieces today. Christmas was a day of old moves coming to fruition. Christmas was a day to curl up on the couch with a good book. He'd recently found a fascinating alchemy book that raised some interesting theories about the uses of dragon's blood.

"I'll have to try that..." Grindelwald said to himself, flipping the page.

"Try what?" Donald MacVicar was standing in the doorway.

"Don't you knock? You could get yourself killed one of these days."

Donald shrugged. "I'm too angry to knock. Try what?"

"According to this, if I drink dragon blood on a certain day of the year, I can be gifted with the language of the birds. Alas, no one's figured out which day it is. I suspect if someone just had it with breakfast every day, they'd be set." Grindelwald turned the page again and kept reading.

"Aren't you going to ask why I'm angry?" Donald asked as he walked in and sank into a comfortable easy chair, making himself at home.

"I already know why you're angry. I'm the one that set up the whole thing, you know. I'm not stupid. Do you have the Hogwarts list, by the by, or did you not get it yet?" He did not look up.

"Yes, I got your bloody list. To hell with the list. Do you have any idea how many of my people are dead? I was supposed to be spending this afternoon searching for a stuffed penguin to give my wife for Christmas, but no! I was picking up the bodies of my staff!" Donald's voice rose in pitch as it rose in volume. His face grew redder as he spoke.

"Oh, how _is_ Mary? Did you have a nice Christmas Eve together?" Grindelwald still had a friendly voice despite the waves of anger coming off Donald.

"She's fine, she's lovely, she didn't spend all day knee-deep in the corpses of her friends!" Donald stood up in order to fish something out of his robes. Producing a piece of paper, "Here's your sodding list. Next time you come to me... don't." Dropping the paper to the floor, he turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Grindelwald finally looked up from his book.

"You think you have that choice?"

"You come asking me to do something for you and then you do this to me?" Donald's retort had venom in it.

"I specifically made sure you were out of the way." A shrug.

"And what if I'd gone in that night? What if there was something I'd forgotten? What if... what if I'd left Mary's gift in my desk?" Donald took a small but elegantly wrapped box from his pocket and brandished it angrily to make his point.

"Then it would have gone very badly for you, wouldn't it?" Grindelwald stood and started to advance.

"Do you even have a concept of friendship, Dietfried? Do you know what a friend is? Friends aren't just people who sit and banter, friends don't nonchalantly let each other die!" He was shouting by now.

"And here you are. Alive and well and kicking. Actually, I don't recommend the kicking part. I've been kicked before. I don't like it." Grindelwald was deadly quiet, but Donald was too angry. Reason was silenced in his head. He shot out with his foot and kicked Grindelwald in the shins as hard as he could.

"Right, then. That does it." With the flash of a wand, there was only one man left standing. Grindelwald stooped over, and picked up the remains of Donald MacVicar.

"You're right. Stuffed penguins are absolutely adorable. You make an especially cute one, Don."

Putting the plush toy on a shelf along with the elegantly wrapped box that had fallen by its side, he curled back up on the couch and turned the page.

-- o --

Night, Saturday, 25 December, 1937  
MacVicar Residence, Chelmsford

Soup simmered on the stove, sending the scent of onion throughout the house. Mary took a whiff, thought for a minute, and then dropped some black pepper into the pot. Donald was due home any minute.

Almost as if that thought were the cue, Mary heard the front door open.

"Took you long enough, Donny! Soup's just about on!" She called out without turning around.

"Soup, eh? If I'd known you were making dinner, I'd have brought cookies or something. Maybe a few pears to go around."

Mary dropped the ladle and spun when she heard Dietfried's voice. Breathing heavily, she laughed.

"D, you scared me! I was expecting Donny. What are you doing here? Are you staying for dinner?"

"Only if you'll have me, Mary. I really just dropped by to bring something over that Don left at my apartment." Dietfried produced a stuffed penguin with a ruby and gold bracelet around its neck.

"Oh!" was all Mary could think to say.

"I take it this means something to you?" Grindelwald's eyes twinkled.

Mary stared at the bracelet, and let out another, "Oh!" before getting a more intelligible, "He said it was better than a penguin! Oh! The two of you are incorrigible! All right, you can come out now, Donny! Where are you?" Mary started to look around.

"We're not in on anything this time. I couldn't tell you where he is, really."

Mary paled. "What? That's not like him."

A shrug. "What can I say? I last saw him this afternoon."

"Dietfried, would you at least stay for dinner? It would give me peace of mind if I weren't waiting for him alone."

"Of course. What are friends for?"

**

* * *

****Another Author's Note: **You guys have been great bearing with me and my slowness. Your reviews have really motivated me. This chapter wasn't supposed to go up until I had more time a couple of weeks from now, but I just had to hurry faster. I'll try to get the next one up as soon as possible. 


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